Kind of Like College, Only Better
by dreamsweetmydear
Summary: Tim works late one night, and has some time to compare notes between his past and his present. Written as a thank you for ChannelD's hard work on the 2009 NFA Secret Santa.


**From the author's desk:** So, back when ChannelD sent out SeSa prompts at NFA in September, I offered to write her a thank you gift fic. The prompt she gave me was "overworked", and after thinking forever and a day about it, I finally came up with this.

I don't think it's my best work, but I tried as hard as I could.

I hope you all enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** _NCIS_ and its characters are the property of Donald P. Bellisario and his associates. This was written strictly for non-profitable entertainment purposes.

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_**Kind of Like College, Only Better**_**  
by **_**dreamsweetmydear**_

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Tim blinked his tired, very dry eyes as he fought his fourth yawn from the last half hour, and groaned again at the layer of encryption that scrolled for the eighth time across the laptop screen.

What he wouldn't give for a little rest, but he was unfortunately not that lucky.

The fifth yawn completely escaped him, and Tim dropped his head to the table.

"I want a break," he whined aloud, knowing that no one would hear him.

It really was just his luck that they would finish one high-power—and high tech—case that had kept him busy working behind multiple computer screens, only to land another case with basically the same intensity about a half hour before quitting time. High power—their dead Marine was the head of a research team working on a top-secret project—and high tech, if the heavy encryption scrolling across the screen in front of him had anything to say about it.

It wasn't that Tim minded doing this part of the job—this was what he went to college for, after all—but after working for the last three days with little sleep on the last case, he'd been hoping for a reprieve. Unfortunately, whoever killed Lieutenant Colonel Peter Bushnell had also compromised whatever project the team had been working on. And as it usually went, no one was willing to speak too openly about the project due to it's top secret nature.

So, here he was past midnight, holed up in Abby's lab as he stared at the computer screen, looking for that one little thing that would help him break through this next layer of encryption.

At least Gibbs had looked a little sympathetic to his position when he'd left earlier, but he'd made himself clear: "I need those files, McGee. You've got tonight."

And Tim muttered to himself, "I'm doomed."

He shook his head and sighed, returning his exhausted gaze to the electric green code whizzing across the laptop's LCD.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" he chanted into the quiet lab, willing the key to the next layer of encryption to show up with the parameters he'd reset for the eighth search of the layer.

In a way, Tim reminisced, this was like being back at MIT all over again. But while he was breaking code now, he was writing code then, usually under a similar time crunch. A wan smile crossed his face as he remembered many nights with his face glued to his computer screen, fingers flying across the keyboard, snacking heavily on potato chips, cookies, and whatever junk food he could get his hands on, and all the while screaming in his head, "OH-CRAP-PROJECT-DUE-NOT-DONE-YET-OH-NO-OH-NO-OH-NO!" And then his hard work would pay off, and he'd get the top score.

Here it was sort of similar, Tim decided as he revealed another layer of code. Gibbs set the deadline, he worked his tail off to meet the deadline, and when he found something highly useful, he was rewarded…with more work, usually. But every once in awhile, when he'd managed to get them something really useful, or come up with a valid theory that panned out, Tim got that coveted "That's good work" from his boss.

And every time, it felt so much better than the As he got in college, because the praise came from a man who was more likely to slap him upside the head to make him aware of something to improve on than he was to give a compliment.

So in spite of the fact that he felt like he could go to sleep, Tim was prepared to work through the night to get the results they needed.

"I've done this before," he encouraged himself. "Remember all those crazy three and four night stretches at MIT and Johns, Tim? You can get through one more night."

Still, as he broke through another layer of encryption, he couldn't help but wish for some company. Back then, there were roommates, and other guys and girls in the same program and class, moaning and groaning about the same issues. Here, only one other person really understood what went into breaking these damn codes. People thought it was easy to sit behind a computer screen and find that little key that would open the treasure chest of hidden files, but it was more complicated than that.

Tim grinned sheepishly as he let the code for the next layer run with his new parameters. His team often complained when he launched into geek speak, but they'd also begun realize that it wasn't as simple as it looked to hack that database or break this code or find those hidden files.

And no one understood that better than his very-often-partner-in-crime-solving: Abby.

She'd been harping at Gibbs for years that science took time, and that had started even before Tim had joined them at headquarters.

Tim smiled, letting the code run again with even narrower parameters. It was too bad she couldn't help him out tonight. She had to give a speech at a forensics conference this evening, and because Vance had hinted to her that there might be a little room in the budget for a couple of new machines, she had also gone to browse some of the latest trends in equipment.

But that was why he'd chosen to work in her lab. Even if Abby wasn't around, she was kind of like his good luck charm sometimes. Just thinking of her often put him at ease, and he was able to work diligently through whatever project he had.

Like cracking this encryption.

Even when she wasn't around, however, Abby still came through for Tim as a triumphant smile lit his tired face. The files on the project that Lieutenant Colonel Bushnell had been working on were finally visible.

The only catch to the newly unencrypted data was that the files were password-protected, but that was easily fixed with a password-cracker set to run. Sitting back, Tim checked the time, yawning once more.

Two thirty-seven. Maybe he'd get some sleep tonight after all.

Tim sat there, letting the password-cracker do its job, his eye lids drooping lower, and lower, and lower…

A beep startled him out of his doze, forcing him awake again. Rubbing his eyes, Tim quickly perused the files on Bushnell's project, letting the information sink in, processing it, before quickly getting to work on a written report that Gibbs would be able to understand and refer to for the rest of the case.

He printed the report, printed the schematics of the advanced warship that Bushnell and his team were creating programs for, and stuck them in a folder with a tired sigh.

"Should I take it up there now?" He glanced at the clock.

Five twenty-two.

"If it's on his desk, he can't say I'm not finished, right?" Tim hoped so, at least. Pushing himself from his chair and calling the elevator in the hallway, Tim fought the urge to fall asleep standing up, his yawns becoming bigger and more frequent.

Tim wasted no time putting the folder on Gibbs' desk once he was in the bullpen, only making sure that it was in such a position that he would see it first thing when he came in.

Then he got back onto the elevator and went back to Abby's lab. Grabbing a pair of mufflers from ballistics and a pillow off the couch in her office, he made a beeline for the futon she kept under her desk, asleep even before his head hit the pillow.

When Tim woke up, it was nearly eleven-thirty in the morning, Abby's music was blaring, but she was nowhere in sight. When he sat up, however, he became aware of something stuck to the top of his head, and saw a note stuck under the pillow he'd been using.

Pulling the Post-It from on top of his head, he read Abby's familiar scrawl—_Hope you slept well! You looked like you needed it._

The note, Tim was surprised and pleased to find, was written in Gibbs' simple block text handwriting—_Good work. Be at your desk by noon_.

It was the best start to his day that he could ask for.

**-/End/-**


End file.
